


In sickness and in health (but mostly the sickness thing)

by TheArtificialDane



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Brooke is a fucking idiot, Caretaking, Just the sniffles promise, M/M, Sick Fic, ex's still being "friends"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtificialDane/pseuds/TheArtificialDane
Summary: “I got you your favourite.”“Chicken noodle be everybody's favourite. Ain’t making you special.”





	In sickness and in health (but mostly the sickness thing)

Brooke had knocked twice on Vanjie’s door, hoping in her heart of hearts the other man would answer. Brooke was still in full drag, her wig itchy, her shoes hurting and honestly she just wanted to get out of drag, knowing she would have to do it all over again tomorrow since they were on the season 11 tour. 

Brooke should have known something was wrong the moment Vanjie had arrived backstage that afternoon, completely bundled up in a hoodie, not even a nip showing even though they were in burning hot Texas. Brooke didn’t know a lot, but she knew Vanjie, and if there was one thing Vanjie was, it was one of the vainest peacocks on earth.

There was only one explanation: Vanjie was sick. The normally deafeningly loud Latino moped around backstage all day, trying and failing, again and again, to work up the energy to get into drag, until Asia had sent him back to the hotel. Vanjie had protested, but Asia had been firm, everyone performing an extra number to fill in the time, and as he was out of excuses, Vanjie had had to return to the hotel. 

 

Brooke knocked again, her stomach clenching until she finally reached into her bra, grabbing the key card Vanjie had originally left on A’keria’s table. Brooke had snagged it up the moment she had the chance, trying and failing miserably in convincing herself that her actions were normal. That it was an appropriate way to behave towards an ex, but Brooke couldn’t make herself care when she knew Vanjie was feeling like shit.

“Jose?”

Brooke opened the door, peeking inside the room. The curtains were closed, the bedside lamp filling the space with yellow light. The air was stuffy, the TV running on a news channel of all things, so low it was practically on mute. 

“A’keria?”

“No.” Brooke walked inside, closing the door behind her. The air was stuffy; a mountain of Kleenex next to the bed telling her exactly how the man who was buried in bed was feeling, the only thing visible of Vanjie was his short black hair, the only noise, the faint sound of coughs.

“Brock?”

“I brought you some soup.” Brooke put the container down. She had gotten it from the deli right next to the hotel, sure Vanjie hadn’t eaten anything, the clear lack of dishes confirming her suspicions. 

“Thanks.”

Brooke knew she should probably leave; the fact that Vanjie hadn’t even bothered to crawl out from underneath the covers a sure sign that he most likely didn’t want her there. However, the fact that Vanjie hadn’t responded with a quick jab, made a joke, or even a snap of his fingers while pointing at the door, felt like the exact reason she had to stay. 

“Can I borrow the shower?”

“Mmh.”

“Thanks.” 

It should feel wrong, but somehow, it was the easiest thing in the world to leave the bathroom door half-open so Vanjie could call in case he needed to. Brooke dumped the bag she grabbed when she left the venue, turning on the water as she started to attack her makeup, peeling off lashes and brows.

She had been flirted with all night, two guys unapologetically approaching her at the bar where she had been watching Silky perform, both asking if they could buy her drinks, their words filled with promises Brooke knew she would have taken them up on before _ Drag Race _ , both of them invited back to her room in the blink of an eye.

Normally, she would have basked in the attention, enjoyed it like a flower under the sun, but the urgency coursing through her body had made it impossible to get changed there. It was an urgency she’d rather not address unless she had to, and one she had assumed she could ignore, and yet. Here she was.

The sink was littered with Jose’s things. Not Vanjie’s. No, these all belonged to the man behind the myth; the razor, self-tanner and teeth whitener all a normal part of the routine. That wasn’t out of the ordinary, however, Brooke couldn’t help but smile at the seven bottles of perfume that was lined up perfectly along the wall, each one of them fitting a specific one of Jose’s moods. 

Brooke stepped into the shower. The water was hot, stinging against his sore toes, and soon every trace of Brooke had vanished down the drain, Brock quickly grabbed a bit of Jose’s moisturizer and rubbed it into his face, knowing that Jose  _ would _ mind, but if there was one thing Brock had never had an issue with, it was their bickering. Jose so easily getting worked up about the tiniest things, it was honestly a delight to see. 

Brock walked back into the room, drying his hair, a pair of sweats slung low on his hips. Brock looked at the bed, just to see that while Jose had emerged, laying with his comically large phone, there was still one thing very very wrong with the scene.

“You haven’t touched your soup.”

“Mmmh.”

Jose didn’t look up from his phone, his thumb doing the same motion over and over again, and Brock knew he was refreshing Twitter in the hopes that something exciting would pop up. A cough wracked his body, Jose quickly grabbing yet another tissue to wipe his nose.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I had some NyQuil.”

“That’s not food.” Brock threw his towel in the direction of the desk, his curls without a doubt a big blonde mess on top of his head. 

“And one of A’kerias nasty ass drinks.”

Brock smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He was happy that A’keria had forced Jose into drinking one of her Ensures, the meal replacement drink one he knew all too well himself, but it still wasn’t anything that would help someone get over a serious cold. “Sit up.”

Jose groaned, at least putting his phone down, but he wasn’t making any move to sit up.

“Now come on.” Brock took his elbow, gently forcing the other man into an upright position. “I got you your favourite.” Brock took the soup, unsnapping the lid, the aroma of chicken filling the room.

“Chicken noodle be everybody's favourite. Ain’t making you special.”

“Sure, but not everyone likes it with extra noodles and no carrots.”

“You remembered?”

“Of course.” Brock smiled, grabbing the spoon. “Now eat, or I’ll force you to.”

Jose took the bowl, reluctantly taking a mouthful, clearly just pleasing Brock, but the moment the soup touched Jose’s lips, it did exactly what Brock had expected, his stomach telling his brain he was hungry and Jose started shovelling it in. 

“You’re being quiet.”

“I’m not a loud-ass motherfucker all the time.”

Brock pulled his leg up, watching Jose whose eyes had already started to droop. “Do you think you’ll be ready for tomorrow?” 

“If not, you’ll be there to push me on stage.”

Brock felt a brief surge of ice cold in his stomach, making him freeze. “What?”

“It’d be real funny if I coughed and slapped myself in the face. Imagine the memes.”

“Why would I push you on stage?” 

“Ain’t that the truth?” Jose coughed, putting the soup on the bedside table. “Show must go on and all that crap.” 

Brock knew that Jose was right, or at least that he used to be right. Brock had never put anything above his career, not even Jose when it really came down to it. It was the thing they had fought about the most, Brock chewing the bitter pill of Jose never having time when season 10 was at its highest, Brock stupidly twisting the knife with joy when he got the chance to be the busy one, gleefully accepting each and every booking he could that had left Jose angry, confused and stretched thin, their relationship barely more than hurried text messages by the time they finally broke up for good.

“Hey.” Brock reached out, steadying Jose who was quite literally falling asleep sitting up. “You’re nodding off.” 

“Sorry.” Jose rubbed his eyes, clearly trying and failing miserably, his shoulder so hot it almost burned Brock’s hand, even though the other man was naked. 

“I really don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“You can call A’keria.”

“Saw her take off with some trade.” Brooke pushed Jose, the other man easily falling into the sheets. Brock crawled in after him.

“Bitch, the fuck you doing?”

“Come here.” Brock grabbed Vanjie easily, turning him over to put his head on his chest.

“This ain’t shit you do with an ex.” 

“You think I’m doing this for you?” Brock cupped Jose’s head, gently running a thumb over the back of his head, Jose instantly relaxing. “I’m just here for the TV.” Brock smiled, grabbing the remote. “There is a _Golden_ _Girls_ marathon I’ve been meaning to catch, and your TV is bigger than mine.” 

“You’re too fucking buff for this shit.” Jose’s arm sneaked over Brock’s stomach. “You just rocking that Adonis body.” Jose threw a leg as well, making himself comfortable. “I wish Silky had come, that would’ve been a real cuddle session.”

“At least I can’t choke you in your sleep.” Brock smiled, fully expecting a retaliation, but Jose didn’t say anything, his eyes already fallen shut as he had gone back to sleep. Brock turned his attention to the TV, clicking on subtitles as he settled in, Jose’s steady breath against his chest telling him that he was okay. Maybe this wasn’t what exes did, but Brock couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be with Jose safe and sound in his arms.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It takes a village to make a fic, so thank you to Meggie, Grapefruit and Evan.


End file.
